Where's Barton?
by Nikolaos
Summary: "Selvig is dancing naked on national television," yelled Natasha. "His head was messed up by the same guy that played with Barton." Natasha wants to know where Barton is and there's only one man who would have the answer. (By popular demand, Chapter 2 has been added)
1. Chapter 1

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-A-

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Natasha stormed through the halls of the newly restored helicarrier. Other agents moved out of her way without her needing to ask or push her way through.

"You can't go in there," shouted Maria Hill.

"Watch me!" growled Natasha as she kicked open Director Fury's office door. "Get out," she ordered the agent who had been standing in front of Fury's desk. She didn't recognise her and she didn't care.

"Agent Romanoff, what in God's name-"

"Barton. Where have you sent him this time?" Natasha asked as she slammed her hands down on the director's desk leaning forward to look him in the eye.

"Agent Hand if you would excuse us," said Fury calmly.

"Yes sir," nodded Hand before walking out the door and closing it behind her.

"Have a seat Romanoff."

"I don't want a seat. I want to know where Barton is," growled Natasha as she stood up straight and folded her arms across her body.

"I don't know," sighed Fury.

"What?"

"I don't know_ exactly_ where he is."

"I heard that part. I'm having difficulty comprehending."

"Barton's taken every mission involving a kill order this last year," explained Fury.

"Again, I know that part. What I don't know is why. Why is the man who had his brain scrambled by a god of all things not under close observation?"

"Barton's brains aren't scrambled, he-"

"Selvig is dancing naked on national television," yelled Natasha. "His head was messed up by the same guy that played with Barton."

"Selvig wasn't as crazy as everyone thought, he did help out in London," pointed out Fury.

"He walks around with no pants on!"

Fury shrugged, "Each to their own."

Natasha sighed before slumping down in the chair in front of Fury's desk. "Barton is the best marksman in the world," she said quietly.

"I know that."

"His IQ rivals that of Stark."

"I'm one of the few who know that too," smirked Fury. "He did take down this goddamn ship practically single handedly."

"And you think that letting him run wild shooting people is a good idea?" asked Natasha as she ran her hand through her hair. She was worried; she'd admit that to herself if nobody else. Barton was her friend; no he was more than that. He was family. "He should be here, or at The Hub or somewhere we can keep an eye on him." Somewhere_ she_ could keep an eye on him.

"We tried that. He made six psychologists cry, drove two medical doctors into early retirement and forced seven techs to resign, without notice. He scared off half of this intake's new recruits in their first week of being here. The only way we would be able to keep him here would be to tie him down.

"We tried that too, he ended up breaking his own arm so that he could escape."

"He told me that happened in a training exercise," said Natasha quietly. That was the last time she'd seen Barton. In the following months she'd only spoken to him a couple of times. Then last week he was meant to meet her in Wyoming. He never showed up. Granted it wasn't for a mission, but they'd agreed months ago to meet just like they did every year. After the shit had hit the fan in Budapest all those years ago, they made themselves take some annual R&R. It was his idea, always had been. But this time he never showed.

Fury sighed, "Barton is doing what he does best. While he's working, he's functioning like a normal SHIELD agent. He focuses on the job, he gets it done and he doesn't terrorize any of the staff while he does it. What more do you want?"

"He goes out without a handler," sighed Natasha trying to take a different track. Maybe if he had someone watching his back he'd be better. He'd get better.

"No one will work with him. Besides it's not unusual for agents to complete missions without handlers present. You've gone out without a handler, more than once."

"Those were straight forward missions. Intel gathering."

"For Barton these are straight forward missions. He goes in, takes out the target and gets out."

"So you've reduced him to being an assassin again. How is this different to what Loki did to him?" Natasha could feel her temper rising again. Only Barton could make her lose her calm. Only Barton reduced her to... to... to being this much of a girl!

"Because he's the one picking the targets. Barton gets to choose who he goes after and when," explained Fury.

"How does he choose?"

"He started by just going down the kill-on-sight list. Started at the top and worked his way down. He went from Chicago to Barcelona then to Toronto then to LA before going back to Europe."

"Doesn't seem very efficient?"

"It wasn't," huffed Fury. "You realise how many flight miles and how much fuel he used up? Because he decided to fly himself to every job. Wouldn't trust anyone else to fly him, so refused to use any already scheduled flight. At one point we had two jets going from Moscow to Beijing. At the same time. Admittedly Barton took off ten minutes later and landed twenty minutes earlier, but the point still stands."

"I'm assuming he's not still doing that?"

"No, we came to an understanding."

Natasha arched an eyebrow in question. She could only imagine how that conversation went.

"Barton still has a choice of targets, either myself or Hill leaves a selection of half a dozen targets in his mailbox. He can go after any of them at anytime he likes on the condition that he checks current flights and he uses the existing flight plans where he can."

"How did he take that?"

Fury laughed, "He made sure his targets were where he could still fly himself or he drove. Like last month he drove from the upstate New York base cross country to Portland."

Natasha couldn't help the small smile. Trust Barton to find a loophole in everything.

"Natasha, Barton is functioning the only way he knows how. He's working and he's not messing up. In fact he's only broken eight protocols since he went on this _drive_ of his, which for him is pretty damn good."

"Where was his last target based?" Natasha asked. She still wanted to find Barton. Still wanted to kick his ass for ruining her vacation.

"San Francisco," answered Fury.

"When did he take it?"

"Eight days ago, he was due to check in five days ago."

"So the reason the carrier is flying across the west coast is purely coincidental?"

"Naturally," shrugged Fury.

There was a knock on the door a second before it opened and Maria Hill stepped in.

"Sir, Barton just checked in."

"Where is he?" asked Natasha standing up.

"Flight deck, he just landed _his_ Quinjet."

"His Quinjet? I was under the impression that they all belonged to me," scoffed Fury.

"Yes sir, but Barton won't let anyone near that jet. Not even the engineers, in fact he broke the hand of the last one who got too close."

Fury groaned in protest. "When was this? And why?"

"Three months ago and according to the engineer he noticed fluid pooling under the left wing. He went to check it out. Barton broke his hand and told him that he could fix it himself."

"The reason I didn't know about this?"

"It was at the same time as Stark was having his issues with Killian. He's still mad at you by the way."

"Stark? When is he not?" Fury sighed. "Romanoff go catch Barton before he leaves again, ask him what he was doing for the last five days. If he gives you a straight answer do let me know. If it's more bullshit, email it to Hill."

Natasha left the office without another word. She had a Hawk to find.

"Sir, how long are you going to let Barton continue like this?" asked Hill handing him a report. She was getting tired of cleaning up after the archer.

"Hill, there will come a time when the Avengers and the world will need Hawkeye again. Until that day comes I'll let Barton do whatever he damn pleases."

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-A-

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**AN: **Thanks for reading. Thoughts and opinions most welcome...


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **So after the multiple PM's and reviews requesting another chapter. Well, I just couldn't say no.

Then I saw Captain America (totally awesome!) Then I finally caught up with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D (OMG! Eeeek!) Which then just gave me a little-bitty idea of where Hawkeye might have been. (Nothing mentioned that would spoil either CA:TWS or AOS)

Your thoughts and opinions are always appreciated. Enjoy!

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-A-

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Natasha walked onto the flight deck. They were currently low enough in the skies that breathing wasn't an issue. She didn't need to ask which Quinjet Barton had come in on as it was the only jet that didn't have anybody even remotely near it.

Walking up the descended rear ramp, she stopped just short of the cockpit, looking over her sometimes partner as he went through his post flight checklists. He looked a mess.

"You going to say hello or continue to stare at me?" asked Barton without turning around to face her.

"That would depend on if the grumpy teenager is currently in house or the world's greatest marksman," huffed Natasha.

Barton didn't say anything in return. He knew Natasha would say what she came here to say, eventually anyway.

"Where have you been?"

"Why ask when you already know?" That was a given, although Natasha might give the impression to people who didn't know her well enough that she did know everything about everybody. The truth was she really did know most things, and if she was standing here, right now, less than five minutes after he'd landed definitely meant that she knew where he'd been.

"Because you were supposed to meet me in Wyoming, yet you did not."

"Guess I forgot," shrugged Barton as he continued his check list, still not looking at her.

"Bullshit!" snapped Natasha. "You have an IQ higher than most Mensa members, you don't just forget things. You have a memory of an elephant!"

"That's debatable. The value of numerical IQ tests are-."

"Would you look at me!" interrupted Natasha.

Barton sighed before putting his clipboard down on the console and turning around to face the red head.

Natasha's eyes widened as she began counting the cuts and bruises that covered Barton's arms and face. She had no doubt that the rest of his body that was currently covered by his torn uniform, looked the same. What she found particularly interesting was that a lot of the injuries looked days old, if not closer to a week. This immediately told her that he'd taken out his target on schedule, yet he'd still gone dark for the last five days. She wondered why?

"As you can see, I was a little busy."

"I'm assuming that whoever is responsible for your current state is now dead?"

"Very." Barton stood up and pushed passed Natasha.

"Where are you going?"

"To shower. To eat. To find some clothes that aren't covered in dried blood."

"Then what? Are you planning on hunting down another target?"

"You know what, I just might," said Barton as he descended the ramp.

"So what would that make? Twenty? Thirty? Forty targets in the last six months?"

"I wasn't keeping track," shrugged Barton as he circled the jet, checking and ticking off things on his mental post-flight checklist.

"дерьмо" [der'mo]

Barton turned around to face Natasha. "Fine, there were nineteen targets."

"Collateral damage?"

"None," growled Barton.

"Let me rephrase the question. How many people have died so that you could get to your target?"

"206," Barton said without hesitation. All bad people. All who would have ended up on SHIELD's watchlist sooner or later, if they weren't already on there.

"206 people in six months. Goddamn it Barton. The last time you killed that many people in that short a time space was before you joined SHIELD."

"Yeah, well it's what I'm good at," snapped Barton.

"You are good at a great many things Clint."

"Yeah? Name something else?" asked Barton closing in on Natasha's personal space.

"You're an idiot," muttered Natasha.

"Thanks for clearing that up," huffed Barton as he turned back to face his plane.

"People are worried about you."

"No, people are worried about what I _might_ do," corrected Barton moving away.

"I'm worried about you."

"You don't count."

"I don't-" Natasha huffed as she clenched her fists. "After everything we've been through?"

Barton sighed as he lent his forehead against the cool metal of the jet. "I didn't mean it like that."

"You never do," sighed Natasha. "Since New York you've barely spoken to anyone. Barely spoken to me."

"Well it's been a little hard to find you," snapped Barton spinning around. "How is good ol' Captain America?"

"Rogers is fine," growled Natasha through clenched teeth. "Of course you'd know that if you bothered to participate in the day to day aspects of SHIELD."

"How can I do that?" yelled Barton advancing on Natasha. "They revoked my clearance!"

"Don't give me that."

They both knew that it didn't matter what clearance level he had. If Clint wanted to know something then he'd figure a way to find out. Like the time that he'd hacked The Hub. Up until recently, he was the only person to have ever had the balls to even try that. In the past, Clint might have checked out this new chick that was causing waves within SHIELD. Anybody who was willing to go against that many protocols in his eyes was worth knowing. Now though, he just didn't care. He didn't care about anything. So he'd knocked out the agent who'd dangled that carrot in front of him.

"They don't want me here!"

"You're a fool!"

"So they tell me." Barton turned away and started walking towards the door that would take him inside. He was cold, and it was starting to rain. He did not want to be out here a couple of thousand feet above sea level when the brewing storm hit. He'd spent most of his childhood living in a tent, so the cold never used to bother him, it did though mean that he had a great appreciation for central heating. Since the Loki '_incident_' as people had come to call it, he hated the cold. He'd almost go as far as to say that he despised it.

"If Fury didn't trust you, you'd be dead!" shouted Natasha, trying to get his attention again.

"I'm an asset, nothing more. While I'm doing the one thing that benefits him, he lets me live."

He didn't see the first punch coming.

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-A-

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"Ma'am, we have a problem on the flight deck," said one of the techs on the Helicarrier bridge.

"What kind of problem?" asked Hill looking up from her data-pad.

The tech pulled up a security feed that showed two people fighting.

"Is that who I think it is?"

"Black Widow and Hawkeye, ma'am."

"Goddamn it," cursed Hill. "Get everybody off the flight deck. Now!"

"What about-"

"Leave them," interrupted Hill. "With any luck they'll fall overboard and I'll only have three sets of paperwork to do instead of nine."

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-A-

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Barton grabbed Natasha's forearm as she threw a punch aimed at his head, swiping down with his other arm he blocked her knee coming at his solar plexus. Having to raise his arm quickly again, he blocked her other arm as it came at the side of his head. He was forced to let go of her as she twisted, attempting to take his arm with her and get him into an arm-lock.

Natasha crouched down low, sliding forward on her knees through the rainwater that was rapidly pooling on the flight deck. Barton rolled out of the way, but not soon enough that she caught his head with the tip of her boot. It didn't seem to hinder him though as he rolled back up to his feet and charged at her. Grabbing her around her waist, her feet left the ground as he propelled her back towards the ground. Knowing what was coming, she arched her back so it was her shoulders instead of her back that hit the ground, using Barton's own momentum she was able to curve her body around his back and roll him over her head and away from her, enabling her to get back on her feet without much hesitation.

Barton rolled away from Natasha as she back flipped out of his grasp. Jumping to his feet he stepped forward and threw his own punch, Natasha blocked with a forearm which he grabbed and twisted, pulling her body into his chest, she dropped her body weight, flipping him over her shoulder. He rolled to his feet blocking a kick aimed at his head, before having to block Natasha's forearm. Throwing a punch of his own, Natasha blocked it but missed his knee to her abdomen. She let go of his arm but wrapped her legs around his waist. He gripped her neck, preventing her from twisting around him and throwing him down.

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-A-

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"Hill, what on earth is going on?" asked Fury walking out of his office to see what the commotion was. It appeared that the entire bridge staff had nearly doubled in size as agents and techs gathered around monitors, talking loudly between each other that was punctured with the occasional deep intake of breath.

"Romanoff found Barton."

"And?"

Hill pointed to the large heads-up-display which showed multiple angles of the current fight going on between two of SHIELD's best agents.

"How long?"

"Thirteen minutes and counting," sighed Hill. "We have two Quinjets in bound, ETA two minutes."

"Tell me you have a plan?"

"I was hoping that they would have settled this _disagreement_ by now."

"Are you forgetting Sarajevo?"

"How could I forget sir," sighed Hill. She had scars on her hands from the amount of paper cuts she'd received from that incident and the overflowing paperwork that the two agents had generated.

"Then what makes you think they are going to stop anytime soon?" asked Fury arching his one remaining eyebrow.

"Wishful thinking that they had matured."

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-A-

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Barton kicked out at Natasha but hit nothing but air. He ducked in time to avoid a kick of her own.

"This is stupid Tasha!" Barton yelled over the howling winds.

"No, you are being stupid! You кретин" screamed Natasha brushing her wet hair out of her eyes. "206 bodies. You have reduced yourself to a hired gun."

"NO! Loki made me that!" Barton hit out again. His punch blocked by Natasha.

"You are deluding yourself." She blocked another punch.

"I'm functioning. It's what you wanted. It's what everybody wanted."

"I wanted my partner back. I fought hard to get him back." Natasha threw another punch, connecting with Barton's shoulder.

"I am back. This is me." Barton twisted out of the way as Natasha's elbow grazed his cheek.

"No Clint," sighed Natasha. "This is just a mere shadow of you." She ducked under another punch. "You don't even take your bow out anymore. It is collecting dust on a shelf."

Natasha leaped over Barton's leg as he kicked out again. Crouching down she grabbed Clint's left knee, pulling up she toppled him over before slamming her elbow into his stomach.

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-A—

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Fury stepped out onto the flight deck, his coat tails whipping around his legs as the wind and rain lashed into him.

"Enough!" he commanded as he marched towards his two agents.

Natasha froze as she held Barton by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to kneel at her feet. Her right fist raised to give what Fury, and Barton knew to be the final blow and most likely knock him unconscious. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and a cut to his forehead. Romanoff herself didn't look much better, her usually immaculate hair was out of place and starting to curl from all the rain and blood ran freely from her nose. Fury was just thankful that this time they hadn't used their knives.

"Romanoff, let him go."

Natasha lowered her arm, releasing her grip on Barton's neck at the same time.

Barton collapsed to the ground, lying on his side he breathed heavily. His whole body hurt.

"Explain," ordered Fury.

"Just a difference of opinion," answered Natasha flatly.

"Really? Well your differences are keeping two Quinjets from landing and one tactical team from deploying."

Natasha shrugged as she looked down at Barton who was still lying on the floor, his breaths coming in uneven gasps. Definitely broken ribs.

"Do you know how many people he's killed recently?"

"When did you start caring about death tolls?" asked Fury.

"When it concerns him," she pointed down at Barton. "I am concerned about him."

Fury looked down at where Barton was slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. This was probably the first time he'd seen Barton up close in months. The younger man had lost weight, his hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, and for the first time in more than a decade, there was no bow. The man before him was a mere shadow of the man that he knew and trusted. Not that he would tell her, but maybe Natasha was right. There was something still _wrong_ with Barton. Something not quite whole about him. And then it clicked.

"Why are you still punishing yourself?" he asked.

"'M not," mumbled Barton as he pushed himself up to his knees. Spitting blood onto the ground.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"Honestly? For you to kill me." Barton gave a low chuckle. "I figure if I fuck up enough, you'll just make it all go away. Stop it from hurting."

Natasha crouched down in front of Clint, holding his face between her hands. "We all have demons. Shadows in our past that as much as we want to go back and change them, we can't."

"What happened wasn't your fault," stated Fury. "You did what you always do. You were faster than everybody else. You got back on your feet and your weapon out before anybody else. If it had been anybody but Loki you had been facing, then they would be dead. I know that. Romanoff knows that, Hill knows that. Anybody who doesn't see that, well then, they don't deserve to be a part of SHIELD."

"We look after our own, Clint. You taught me that," smiled Natasha.

"The hardest thing in this world, is to live in it," said Fury. "It's why we fight so hard. As people we don't like to give up. As a race we're tenacious at holding onto things. It is both our strength and our weakness.

"Barton, the only person you've been fooling around here, is yourself. This isn't you giving up. This is you fighting to keep living. To be the man I've trusted all these years. Who I still trust." Fury offered a hand out to Barton, when the younger man excepted Fury pulled him up to his feet, and didn't let go.

"Romanoff, would you head down to medical and inform them that Agent Barton will be heading their way."

"'M fine," protested Barton. Confused as to why there was a flashdrive now between his and Fury's palms.

"It's not a request."

Natasha cast one last look at Clint before heading back indoors.

"Sir, I-"

Fury let go of Barton's hand and signaled him to be silent. "When you've been to medical I need you to head to Algeria. Look up your old friend Batroc."

"The Leaper?" Barton sighed. "I wouldn't call Batroc a friend. He did try to kill me. Twice!"

Fury shrugged nonchalantly. "At some point, all your 'friends' try to kill you."

Barton rolled his eyes, or he would have done if his left eye wasn't swelling up a treat.

"Give him the drive. Then take a vacation."

"And where exactly would you like me to go on vacation?"

"If you told me, it wouldn't be classed as a vacation," smirked Fury before walking away. "I'd suggest sticking to Europe though."

"Director?" asked Barton.

Fury looked back at his agent.

"Give this to Nat for me." Barton put his hand that contained the drive in his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box in its stead. He tossed it towards Fury. "Tell her..." he shrugged. "I dunno, think of something good, tell her I said it." He walked back towards the Quinjet.

"That's not the way to medical," said Fury.

"Nope, But that's where Nat is, and if I go there, she won't let me leave."

"You're beat to hell and probably have a concussion."

"Most likely, but it wouldn't be the first time I've flown with one."

Fury watched as Barton entered the Quinjet and took off. Looking down at the jewelry box he opened it to see a silver chain with a small arrow pendent. Smiling to himself he headed back indoors to head off an angry Russian.

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-A-

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**AN: **Translation (from Google - sorry) "дерьмо" = Bullshit ... "кретин" = cretin/asshole

Apologies if it got a bit sappy at the end but I really, really wanted to use one of Whedon's best lines. It just seemed to fit.

R+R


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